


Celestial Bodies

by blushamatic



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Clothes On, M/M, Minor Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Mirrors, Open Relationships, Post-Canon, Tell Magnus He's Pretty, Wine, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 05:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12834456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blushamatic/pseuds/blushamatic
Summary: Magnus invites Barry to Raven's Roost for a quiet weekend alone. The years are starting to change Magnus. Barry likes that just fine.





	Celestial Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> Back with more Burnjeans, baby!
> 
> This installment follows "The Camping Expedition" and "Sweat, Oil, & Steam" which add some sexy context but aren't necessary to enjoy this cozy, post-canon PWP.

Barry thumps the iron knocker twice against the door. Somewhere inside, a gruff little “woof” answers him. It’s just a single, restrained “woof,” Barry clocks with a smile—no dog of Magnus’s would dare to bay at the door. A form darkens the little stained-glass window. Barry’s stomach does a small somersault.

Magnus is roaring hello before the door is fully open. Two huge arms pull Barry up onto his toes. Magnus’s wool sweater smells like sage and tobacco smoke, and his booming laugh vibrates through Barry’s bones.

Something nudges his calf. “Hello to you too, Johann,” Barry chuckles into Magnus’s chest.

“Heel,” Magnus commands. Barry turns his head just in time to see Johann sit back on his haunches and lift his scruffy chin, proud. Barry gives him a rub between the ears, which sets his tail wagging. Barry looks up again. Magnus is beaming.

"Hi," Barry says softly.

"Hi yourself," Magnus teases. “Brought me firewood?” He points to the bundle in Barry’s hand.

“Enchanted firewood! Nice aroma and never burns out, apparently.”

“That’s amazing! Here, come in, come inside, let me get your bag. You want wine?”

“Yes, please, wine sounds—sorry, wait, you have wine?”

“Sure I do, why?”

“What’s so funny?”

“Magnus, I’ve never seen you drink anything but dark liquor and beer.”

Magnus’s back is to Barry—he’s in the kitchen now, retrieving two small glass jars from a cupboard—and his voice is very small as he says, “I got it ‘cause _you_ like it.”

Ah. He should've guessed. Barry crowds him against the countertop, presses his forehead into Magnus’s back. “I _do_ like it.”

Magnus turns to face him, rosy-cheeked and smiling. “Well then hand me that corkscrew, ya big snob.”

Barry lets himself stare at Magnus’s large hands as they uncork the bottle and fill their glasses. He’s still staring as he takes his first sip, so he’s a little surprised when his tongue registers that this is a very good wine. He tells Magnus so. Magnus smirks and looks a little guilty.

“. . . I asked Lup what to look for.”

He can't help but throw his head back and laugh at that. “A conspiracy!” And that gets a real smile, a full one, out of Magnus.

He reaches across, places his hand over Magnus's. Keeps his voice gentle as he says, “Thank you. For the wine—for all this.”

Magnus beams. “No way I’d pass up the chance for a weekend with you.”

“ _Alone_ with me,” Barry adds with a wink. Magnus’s cheeks redden.

 

Dinner is roast chicken and some kind of incredible, buttery root vegetable native to Raven’s Roost. After dinner, Barry follows Magnus into the living room with the remains of the wine. He refills their glasses while Magnus tends to the fireplace. He’s draining the bottle of its last drops when he hears Magnus say, “Hey Bluejeans. Watch this.”

Barry looks up to see Magnus cast Produce Flame on the enchanted firewood. His eyes twinkle. For a moment, Magnus looks just like he did the first time he cast that spell—seconds before that very first kiss, on that lonely forest planet, decades ago.

“Learned that one from a master arcanist,” Magnus says. He collects his wine glass from Barry and sinks into the couch. “Smart guy. You might know ‘em.”

“Oh yeah? Hope he wasn’t some kind of necromancer. Don’t want to get mixed up with that sort.”

Instantly, Barry is sorry he’s made the joke because it prompts Magnus to ask, “How’s work these days?” not because he’s curious but because he feels he’s supposed to. Barry tells him, truthfully, that work is good and rattles off a benign anecdote. “She treating you alright?” Magnus grumbles after listening patiently. Barry has to smirk at that. “She,” of course, is the Queen, but Magnus sounds as if he’s checking up on a mean-spirited supervisor, not the Goddess of Death.

“She always does, Magnus. Kravitz does too.”

Magnus’s brow has not relaxed. “Yeah. Kravitz is like you two, though. Good heart.”

(One of Magnus’s chief resentments regarding their arrangement with the Raven Queen is that Kravitz, like Barry and Lup, is too kind-hearted to resist or acknowledge any mistreatment from Her Majesty. Magnus sees a much gentler side of Kravitz than Barry does while on the job, but Barry is not about to argue with him. Not tonight.)

“Never seen your hair this long, Mags.”

Magnus warms to the obvious change of subject. He brushes a few strands behind an ear. “Yeah, dunno why. I just like it. Thought it’d make me look dignified.”

“It does. I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Barry says, and he can’t keep the dreaminess out of his voice. He lets his head loll to one side, lets his stare linger and his eyes blink slowly.

“I’ll tell ya what I don’t love: Finding a new grey hair in there every damn morning.” Magnus takes a rueful sip of his wine.

Barry chuckles. “Aw, can’t be that bad. Dignified, right?”

“You don’t know the first thing about it.” Magnus is smiling as he says it, and Barry knows it isn’t meant to be cruel, but he also recognizes the sign to ease off the subject of aging. Or not aging, rather.

But Barry has to ask: “How old are you now, Magnus? Like, how old is all this?”

Magnus looks wary, but he clears his throat and ponders an answer anyway. “Let’s see. Twenty-five plus a hundred, minus a hundred, plus twelve, plus ten minus ten, plus three . . . Fuck if I know. Forty?”

“Forty.” The number feels weighty and rich on his tongue. Magnus must have heard something in his tone, too, because he’s biting back a self-conscious little smile.

“Yeah. Old. Not the sexy young security lug onboard the Starblaster.”

Barry gives him a long, long look over the rim of his wine glass. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

He hears Magnus’s breath catch and the fire pop. He moves his hand to cover Magnus’s, draped along the back of the couch. He drags his fingers across Magnus’s knuckles. Magnus is adrift in Barry’s stare. "Didn't realize you were into older men," he murmurs.

"Well." Barry eases forward, closing the distance between their chests. "One older man in particular."

Magnus's eyes flutter closed, and Barry kisses him. Their breathing slows and deepens, becomes the only sound in the room other than the pop and crackle of the fire. Barry wants to luxuriate in this, draw it out, but he can't help teasing Magnus's tongue with his own, not when it earns him such a gorgeous whimper and a broad hand on the small of his back. He moves next to Magnus's neck, stubble scraping his cheekbone. A vein pulses hotly beneath his lips.

A hand nudges at his sternum. Barry pulls back with a whine. Magnus slips the wine glass from his hand, sets it aside, then takes Barry's face in his hands and lowers him onto the couch.

Barry squirms beneath each point of contact—calves, thighs, hip bones, bellies. His nose fills with Magnus's scent. Fingers slide up Barry's temples to tug at his hair. Barry groans, rolls his hips, gulps when he feels how hard and enormous Magnus is already.

"Want you," Magnus rumbles in his ear.

"Take me," Barry pants. His voice is so raw, so earnest that Magnus can't help but laugh.

"Mmm. But kissing you silly on my couch is so fun."

"Agreed, but getting me naked in your bedroom would be even better."

Magnus laughs again and slides to his feet. "You're a demanding motherfucker." And he scoops Barry into his arms and ferries him down the hall.

Barry's shirt is halfway off before his feet touch the bedroom floor. His belt rattles to the floor soon after. He tugs at Magnus's sweater but doesn't get far before Magnus is spinning him around and sliding Barry's trousers off his hips. There's breath in his ear and a hand sliding into his underwear and Barry stops trying to think two steps ahead, stops trying to think at all. "Look at you," Magnus growls, and Barry looks up.

There's a mirror in front of him, atop a dresser. His erection throbs in Magnus's hand, the other hand tugging Barry's underwear down his hips. Barry's lips are swollen and spit-slick. His face is flushed. He can feel the scratch of Magnus's sweater and trousers against his own skin. He feels a delicious shame being exposed like this, his need so obvious, his arousal so on display.

"There's a blue bottle in front of you,” Magnus says into his ear. “Pick it up." Barry’s fingers fumble the bottle in his hurry to obey. He watches in the mirror as Magnus tips Barry’s hand into an open palm and gathers the liquid that spills from the bottle. “Forward,” Magnus instructs. Barry sets down the bottle, bends, places his palms flat on the dresser. Eyes fluttering shut. Breath shallow. Waiting to feel Magnus’s hand find his cock again.

Instead, he feels a bite at his earlobe. Fingernails drag their way up his inner thigh. Barry opens his eyes in time to see his cock twitch. Magnus is staring at him, mouth buried in his neck.

“Oh come on, touch me, Magnus.”

Magnus grins. Finally, he wraps a slick palm around Barry’s shaft. Barry’s arms shake as Magnus works him with brutal precision. He can feel Magnus harden each time he lets a groan slip, the hard line of his cock ramming against Barry’s lower back. He’s so close. He’s going to make a mess of himself, of Magnus, in full view of this mirror—is going to have to watch himself come completely undone. Magnus quickens his pace, and that does it. Barry spills into Magnus’s hand and across his own abdomen with a choked cry, legs quaking, eyes barely able to focus on the sight reflected in the mirror.

Magnus holds him as his body calms. When his gasps turn to even breathing, Magnus guides him from the dresser to the bed and lowers him onto down pillows. Barry watches hazily as Magnus putters about in the bathroom and returns with a warm, damp towel. Barry cleans himself as Magnus collects his discarded clothes and drapes them across a chair.

“Stop playing host,” Barry whines.

Magnus chuckles. “Somebody’s impatient.” He stands over Barry and pulls his sweater over his head.

He’s tossing it aside and shaking his hair out of his eyes when Barry sees it.

“Is that a hole in your ear?”

Magnus blushes. “Uh.”

“Is your—did you pierce your ears?!” Barry bolts upright, grabs Magnus’s chin, yanks it to the side.

“Just, um, just the one.”

He drags Magnus onto the bed for closer inspection. “When did this happen?!”

Magnus sinks down next to Barry. “Over the summer? On my trip to Neverwinter.”

“—When you were visiting Taako. Of course. How many Mai Tais deep were you two when this happened?”

Magnus is trying his best to glower. “First of all, they were martinis, not—”

“Wait, why aren’t you wearing an earring right now?!”

“Oh—I can’t always pull it off.”

Barry leads up onto his knees. “ _What_ are you talking about? Do you have something to put in there?”

“I do.”

Barry gives him a shove. “Get it! Go put it in!”

Magnus shuffles to his dresser and fumbles with the lid of a small wooden box, moves aside a few lose coins and a bundle of pipe tobacco. Magnus plucks something from the box, fiddles with his ear, then turns and presents himself to Barry. A tiny golden shape dangles from his earlobe, glinting in the lamplight.

Barry is bewitched. Magnus has never been much for _adornments_. This, Barry realizes, has been a criminal oversight. The long hair brushing his shoulders, the beard, the broad shoulders, the earring. It’s . . . Barry is glad he’s lying down.

“Gods, Magnus. You look . . .  can I say ‘pretty’?”

Magnus laughs, booming. “Sure, you can tell me I’m pretty.”

Barry falls back against the pillows and opens his arms wide. “C’mere, pretty thing.”

 

A few breathless minutes later, Magnus is wearing nothing _but_ the earring. His broad chest gleams with sweat. He’s got a hand beneath each of Barry’s knees, muscles defined and veiny and tense from exertion. Magnus is pounding him into the headboard, and Barry is babbling now, pleading, “Harder” and “Yes” and “Oh, _Magnus_.” Barry wraps his legs around Magnus’s back, inviting him deeper, and the sudden shift in angle sends a tide of pleasure through him so white-hot that he tenses and comes a second time. Magnus’s pupils go wide as he drinks in the sight of him. He brings his hands to Barry’s shoulders, pins them to the mattress, thrusts into his spent body twice more. His groan as he comes shakes the bedframe.

Barry unwraps his legs, feels them tingle as blood rushes back into his hips and knees. Magnus rolls off and curls into his side. He takes Barry’s arm and thumbs small circles into the muscles there. “Hope I didn’t bruise you.”

Barry looks at him out the corner of an eye. “I hope you _did_.”

“Mm.” Magnus presses a kiss to his collarbone. “Good to know.”

Barry rolls to face him, runs a knuckle between Magnus’s pecs. He trails an index finger over the hollow of Magnus’s neck, along his jaw, up the shell of his ear. Up close, Barry can see the detail of the earring: There’s a small stud connected to a long, flat diamond shape by a single golden link. “You’re beautiful.”

Magnus smiles. “I like all these new . . . vocabulary words."

“Good,” Barry purrs, stretching his limbs across the wide bed. “We’ve got all weekend to practice them.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yell with me on my new Twitter: @blushamatic


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